


that's my reprieve ( or: of flowers that never die ).

by castcommune



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, a sort of character study for marv, yeah it's another sad death fic. what of it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castcommune/pseuds/castcommune
Summary: he said your name, and flowers bloomed in the silence that followed. he said your name, and suddenly his smile was a garden you were always too afraid to approach, lest you clip the petals in your sleep. / he was turbulence, he was impact, he was all or nothing or sometimes, sometimes he was somewhere in between. sometimes he was reaching for your hand, nightmares grasping him so tightly he can hardly breathe; sometimes he was restless, sometimes he was sweet. mostly, he was just yours.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Kudos: 12





	that's my reprieve ( or: of flowers that never die ).

it is a pitiful thing, to remember a memory so ripe with greed, pride drips from chapped lips as you bite directly into it; drowning in this sweet, sickening thought --- this is how he would like to be remembered, you think, like the apple dangling, like the temptation that strangles you in your sleep sometimes. he would want to be remembered as being good, for once. screw the sour, screw the bad tastes, screw the days spent shouting and the nights spent fucking him until the only word he could say was your name like an apology.  _ Marvin _ , he would say, like the letters were knives and his tongue the cutting board where love went to be butchered; he said your name, and flowers bloomed in the silence that followed. he said your name, and suddenly his smile was a garden you were always too afraid to approach, lest you clip the petals in your sleep.

he died almost a week ago today; six days, to be precise, though you regrettably count the hours like a time-bomb just waiting for the best moment to go off. tick, tock, tick, tock, tick --- you think you hear his voice sometimes, like a ghost haunting you, like the wind howling for your hand in the dark;  _ Marvin _ , it says, haven't you been at war for long enough? haven't the bruises softened? his voice like a melody, swirling into the air like the cool breeze that hits you on the way to work, like the afternoon haze that slams into you like a freight train; he was turbulence, he was impact, he was all or nothing or sometimes, sometimes he was somewhere in between. sometimes he was reaching for your hand, nightmares grasping him so tightly he can hardly breathe; sometimes he was restless, sometimes he was sweet. mostly, he was just yours.

six days ago, things changed forever. he didn't wake up, and you remember the call so vividly; the words lost to time, even now, but the feelings, the emotions --- you don't forget a phone call like that. rush to the hospital room, doctors telling you to relax, he is gone, we are so sorry for your loss; here, have a moment with him. here, speak your peace as he lies there so still, so cold, so empty, and what more could you do but cry? oh, how you wept. oh, how you mourned, flowers set on the bedside table still alive, somehow, as if God were a spiteful thing who wished to only pick and choose --- who shall thrive, who shall lose all they have ever wanted. Who, you think, and you plea, and you cry into the night, who would do this to him? screw a life together, screw the happiness you were feeling so vibrantly --- he deserved so much more, and how he lied there so still, so vacant, so empty. how he lied there, so cold. how you wished your sobs would replenish the seeds once sown into the garden of the life you wished to have together; instead, they would only wilt. they would only die, like this lover lying in front of you. like you, too. 

it comes on slowly, like a curse too frightened to manifest; when you are finally admitted to the hospital, you feel a strange sort of relief --- perhaps you will see him again soon, the ghost of peaceful past, a phantom you long for so tenderly. family comes and goes, bringing gifts and games and smiles that feel all too drenched in fear. here, you almost feel loved, for once. here, you feel as though you don't deserve the kindness they are giving you...though you accept it, still, anyway. it is a strange feeling, that of death; he is a friend, a lover, a confidant. still, he is who he is: rigid, stern, waiting for his time. tick, tock, tick, tock, tick ---

in your dreams, some nights, he comes to you, like a prayer muttered into the silence as he sleeps, like a lullaby in the form of a smile and a kiss goodnight; he was so, so beautiful --- he still is, you would attest, though memory oft softens the blow of reality. you think maybe, he would want to be remembered like a ravenous sweetness, like a muted frenzy of things so grand and feelings so pure that it blinds you at times. in your sleep, you toss and turn, restless from the absence that crawls into your warm embrace. in your sleep, you tremble against death's gentle kiss, you imagine your lover's name like an apology you were always too afraid to say out loud. 

in your final dream, the one you hope never ends, he stands there with a bouquet. he waits for you, holding so tenderly the blooming thing you have created together, vibrant colors of each grin so pure, every laugh so bubbly and honest. this garden contains blossoms of infinite possibilities, and he must want to share it all with you now, finally. it's about time, don't you think?


End file.
